


WankMate

by Leela



Series: WankMate the Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry tests WankMate<sup>TM</sup>, another WWW for Adults product, and discovers something about himself and someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WankMate

**Author's Note:**

> Written for shellydkitty, because May is Masturbation Month and just because. *hugs*

Harry lay back on his bed, the covers pushed down to the foot. The WankMateTM gloves on his hands made him feel more than a little self-conscious. Twenty-four prototypes, twelve couples, and only George and Angelina knew who they were.

The gloves were opaque silver and whisper-thin. They had shrunk to fit his hands — _like a glove_, his brain provided with its usual lack of comic wit. He rubbed his fingers together, but it simply felt as if he was wearing very flexible, very thin gloves. And, yet, George and Angelina had promised that the WankMate was like nothing he'd known before.

Someone, possibly a complete stranger or a friend, had a matching set of gloves to Harry's. For this first test, his gloves were secondary; someone else would share with Harry what he or she was feeling as he or she wanked. Anonymity guaranteed for all test subjects by Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, unless both subjects submitted a request for an introduction.

Was it wrong that he was hoping that the _someone else_ was male, that the test would help him work out the answer to the question he hadn't been able to bring himself to ask?

The first alarm went off: sixty seconds to wank time.

Hands shaking, he reached over to his bedside table for the jar of WankMate lube. Unscented and highly viscous, it sparkled with the magic infused into it.

As he dipped his gloved fingers into the lube, he dropped the jar on the bed. And then cursed as it wobbled and rolled, landing in a cold glob against his hip.

The second alarm: ten seconds to wank time.

As fast as he could, Harry grabbed for the jar, scooped out a bit more lube, and tossed it in the direction of his bedside table. This time it hit the floor with a heavy thunk, but he ignored it. He was too busy smoothing the lube over his already hard cock with his right hand and sliding his left hand over his bollocks, between his parted legs, and pressing his fingers into his arse, that hole he only played with when the lights were off.

The third and final alarm: wank time.

Harry arched back, hips thrusting upwards, barely able to feel his own fingers although they were still inside him, as a hand squeezed his cock. Fingers flicked the foreskin. Not his hand, not his fingers. The strange palm was narrower, smaller, not quite as strong as Harry's. The fingers were longer, thinner, and more agile. The hand glided up and down Harry's cock, twisting and tugging gently at the tip.

Then it stopped, and he groaned with the loss. He tried to recapture the sensation with his own hands, but felt nothing more than an echo of touch.

Until the strange hand started again, fisting his cock. The pressure was soft and then hard, squeezing and releasing. The fingers curled and flicked. The thumb — oh Merlin, that thumb — rubbed a circle into the head, pressed into the slit.

Harry fucked the invisible hand. The bed squeaked as his hips thrust up, dropped down. Mostly, but not always, matching the ever-changing rhythm of that hand.

Bearing down on his own fingers, he moaned, undulated, almost desperate with the need to feel something inside him.

His bollocks were rolled. Another thumb — thank god men had two thumbs — pushed on his perineum, matching the movements of that first hand.

Shoulders digging into the mattress, head pressed into the pillow, Harry lifted his hips and spread his legs. Words fell from his mouth, as he begged a stranger who couldn't hear him to fuck him.

The fingers abandoned his bollocks, and then they were there, circling his pucker. Teasing. Fucking teasing, as Harry twitched and undulated, trying to get those fingers inside him, trying to feel more of his own that were still up his arse.

Two fingers slammed into him, scraping past his prostate, and he hissed a triumphant, "Yes."

In and out. He was being fucked and he fucked himself on those lovely, long fingers, as the first hand continued to twist and tug and squeeze. Fast and hard, faster and faster, and harder and harder, until his cock pulsed, his arse spasmed, and he came messily and brilliantly all over himself and the bed.

Afterwards, as the hands withdrew with unexpected gentleness, as his chest heaved, he acknowledged that he knew, had always known, the answer to that question.

And then a voice he shouldn't be able to hear, a voice that he'd known for all of his life that mattered, a cultured, taunting, provoking, _Malfoy_ voice, whispered, "Find me, Potter."


End file.
